


the dream that you wish will come true

by prettyluke (buttonjimin)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Fairy Tale Retellings, Fluff, Luke Hemmings as Cinderella, M/M, Male Cinderella, based off multiple cinderella versions, but i twisted it in places
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 22:19:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5181767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttonjimin/pseuds/prettyluke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke didn't think he would ever escape the malice of his stepmother and stepbrothers, and Ashton didn't think he would ever find a boy he could love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the dream that you wish will come true

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cherryraindrops](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryraindrops/gifts).



> _no matter how your heart is grieving,_   
>  _if you keep on believing_   
>  _the dream that you wish will come true._

Luke had been lucky, as a child, to grow up in the palace.

He had never known his mother, nor had he needed to. She had died the day he was born, and while it pained his father so, his thoughts lay in the bright, open meadows behind the palace. This was not to say he did not care; rather, he was young, perhaps a bit on the naive side. Simply, though, his heart was open and bright and free, and far be it from his father to pollute such innocence.

His father was in the armed guard, and looked after Luke well enough. They took up residence in one of the middle quarters of the palace, and Luke wanted for nothing. Luke had merely to blink his pretty blue eyes for an old dame to bring him sweets beyond his dreams, or a young maid to dust the soot from his clothes. Without realizing, Luke had the whole servantry at his fingertips.

Luke played minimally with the other palace boys, and had little interest in seeking out the prince, as most of the court children did; such nobility was beyond him. Instead, he spent his time in the gardens, in the forests and the hills, from the time the dew revealed itself until the painted backdrop of the sunset fell against the sky, and then Luke would come bounding home with flowers laced in his wavy flaxen hair.

Retrospectively, of course, that should have been a sign.

“You’ll lose your head in the clouds,” his father often said, half-seriously. “Spending all that time in those woods. I could teach you to fight, you know, if you’d only put your mind to it.”

But Luke didn’t have time for swords.

He had time for flowers and pretty things, he had time for climbing trees. He had time to pick the plants he had read about in that old herb book he forgot to return to the palace library. He got hauled from the woods several times by the sour-faced cook, flowers shredded around his head as she shook him by the ear and made him sit in the corner of the kitchen until his father was able to retrieve him, but it stopped when it became clear that he was going to do nothing to inhibit Luke’s proclivity for nature.

And so life went on in this way.

But things came screeching to a halt the month before he turned eleven.

It was early June, and suddenly the flowers had all wilted and the blue skies had receded. Luke stayed inside his quarters for weeks at a time. The sun had faded from his skin in a hurry and he was left cold and shaking by the windows.

His father, along with the king and a whole troop of guards, had perished in a battle with the southern front.

 

* * *

 

The same cook who had often ridiculed him for making flower circlets as the girls sometimes did offered to take Luke on as her own.

This was admittedly somewhat of a surprise to Luke, seeing as she had made her feelings for him quite clear over the years.

_Spoiled, lazy child. He must think he’s some sort of dryad with the way he carries on in those woods. I pity his father, and his poor late mother._

She came for him two weeks after his father’s death, stern and broad shouldered. For Luke, she was the very harbinger of doom. His whole life, he had been free to roam the backwoods at his leisure, and life with the cook seemed cold, at the least.

“Get your things,” she said abruptly, gesturing distastefully around the room. “You’re coming with me.”

Luke stood in his bewilderment, feeling his heart wilt like the daisies scattered around the room. “What do you need me for?”

“You’re finally going to earn your keep around here,” she said as Luke started scrambling for his things. “All these years, your father spoiling you. It’s about time you did something useful.”

Luke watched her go, falling to his knees to gather possessions from the floor. In his haze of grief, he hadn’t considered what was to become of him. It seemed possible, perhaps, to go on as he always had, but he hadn’t given a thought to a future.

He knew the cook had two sons, older than Luke, the first whom she adored much as Luke’s father had adored him, and the second, a boy somewhat resembling Luke who was from her second marriage—a boy that she loved a bit less, if the stories were to be believed. Luke’s heart sank when he saw the small, cramped servant’s quarters that the cook and her sons stayed in together. Just a bed for her, and cots for the others. Luke shivered, feeling the draft that came through the cracked, dirty window. The corners of the room were lined with dust, and the fireplace was filthy and spilled soot out into the room.

“Where’s my cot?” Luke ventured, gripping tightly to his bag of things. He hadn’t taken much.

The cook laughed, a harsh, high, grating sound. Her boys, trailing behind her, smiled uneasily. “Oh, no, you’re not sleeping in a cot. Those are for servants. But you’re in a different class, aren’t you?”

Luke didn’t know what he was. Wasn’t he a servant, now? Didn’t he belong to her? What else would he do with himself? He’d never let his father teach him how to use a sword; now he wished he had.

“What do I sleep on?” he asked, nerves creeping into his voice.

“You’ll sleep by the fireplace,” she said.

There was no bedding by the fireplace.

“I don’t understand,” he said, struggling to comprehend what was going on. He wanted to go back to his old quarters, where he had a decent bed and a window that was intact.

“You’re awfully slow. You’re not one of us, Luke. You’re lower than that. You’re the dirt we walk on. Do you understand?”

Luke felt his body grow cold. She meant to treat him as a slave, then. Not even a servant.

“I’ll arrange for a pallet to be brought in,” she said loftily. “For tonight, you can sleep on the floor.”

Luke swallowed hard, his eyes flicking to the fireplace. The floor was dirty all around it, smeared with cinders. It looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned in quite a while. He knew it would be cold and uncomfortable.

“Can I have a blanket at least?” he asked, lowering his gaze. _Be loving, be patient, be polite,_ his father always used to say. He’d be loving and patient and polite; maybe she would be kind to him if he was a good boy. But she shook her head then.

“There are only three blankets, and you wouldn’t want us to be cold, would you?”

Luke looked desperately at the two boys, hoping one would agree to give up a blanket. But he found no sympathy. “No,” he mumbled, tears pricking his eyes.

“No, what?”

“No, ma’am.”

That night, Luke slept on the cold bare floor by the fireplace. He didn’t pillow his head with his spare clothes, afraid that what he had would be soiled by the soot. He cried to himself silently, convulsing on the hard floor and shivering in the cold. He woke up with cinders smeared over his cheek, tear tracks marking clean streaks down his face, and from then on, he let the boys call him Cinderluke.

 

* * *

 

As Luke grew, he became more and more unhappy. The cook stopped letting him eat dinner with her and her sons, whose names were Jack and Benjamin. Instead, he ate scraps of what the other servants left behind, which weren’t all that royal to begin with. Cold and mostly eaten, they became as good as the pigs’ slops.

His body quickly outgrew the clothes he had, and whatever finery he owned was given to other servant boys. Luke, in return, was given the bigger boys’ old clothing, or whatever wasn’t wanted. Anything too ragged or grease-stained for them to wear was passed down to Luke, who had no right to refuse it. The cook continued to taunt him, jeering that nothing was too bad for him to wear. After all, beggars couldn’t be choosers, and Luke would be lucky to even consider himself a beggar.

And after all that, he had become accustomed not only to not being the same nobility he had practically been before, but to being as good as a slave. By the time he turned 16, Luke thought nothing of himself. His love for the nature beyond the castle walls diminished, though he still sought escape whenever he could manage it. But if he didn’t return in time to clean the room and start a fire to keep them all warm during the cold winter, he suffered for it. He paid the price in meals and bruises and his cheek against the cold floor. He addressed everyone, no matter their age or status, as _ma’am_ or _sir_ as the cook had taught him, and he tried to make himself as small as possible so he wouldn’t get in trouble.

He spent some of his time in the stables, sneaking away when nobody was looking although he knew he’d be punished later if anyone noticed his absence. It was there, standing in a stall and patiently brushing out the horse’s mane as the stablemaster had taught him to, that he accidentally encountered a noble boy. He didn’t know whose horse it was; all he knew was that it was one of the finer horses, and she seemed to like him as much as he liked her. But he knew as soon as the stable doors opened and he caught a glimpse of the fine velvet of the stranger’s vest and the good silk of his blouse that he’d do best to duck down into the straw and be as quiet as he could. The only person who’d ever had any patience for Luke after his father was the stablemaster, and he did his best to stay out of everyone else’s way.

Luke hid in the corner of the stall, bunched into a ball, and praying he wouldn’t be noticed. He held his breath, his chest tight. His eyes scrunched shut, as if by not being able to see the stranger, the reverse would be true. He didn’t want to get hauled off to the kitchens and slapped into the nearest wall by the cook. The footsteps drew closer, and stopped.

“Are you playing hide and seek?”

The voice was teasing, but Luke couldn’t tell if it meant to threaten him or not. Still, he opened his eyes, startled, and was met with a pair of curious hazel eyes. Luke took in the sight of the boy--clean, well-kept caramel curls, a blinding grin paired with dimples, and clothes so fine they made Luke feel ashamed of his own rags. But he saw no hint of malice, not at face value. He unfurled slightly, only enough to sit forward a bit. The other boy leaned over the stall door, waiting.

“Do you want to ride this one, sir?” Luke asked timidly, picking up the brush lying in the straw next to him.

“That was the plan, but I have other options,” the boy said casually. “You know you shouldn’t sit so close to the horse’s feet? What if she kicks you in the face?”

Luke stood up awfully fast. “I did not know, sir,” he admitted.

“Do you even work here? Anyone would know that.”

Luke flushed. “No sir,” he said, gaze dropping. “I am—I work in the kitchens. I just come down here sometimes, because—because—”

“You like the horses,” the boy finished for him, and when Luke looked up, he seemed understanding. “Do you ride?”

“No, sir.” Luke wanted to get out of the stall, run somewhere nobody could see his hot red cheeks, but he didn’t want to have to get past the other boy.

“Hm.” The boy looked stumped for a moment. “Well, are you going to keep standing there?”

“I am sorry,” Luke stammered, backing further into the stall. “You can take her.”

“Thank you for your permission,” the boy said with a smirk, and entered the stall. “You should learn how to ride. It’s quite a bit of fun.”

“Oh, no, sir,” Luke said, shaking his head furiously. “I am just—” He thought for a moment. He wasn’t even really a kitchen boy. He was a servant for the servants. He was their footstool, their doormat.

“Anyone can ride,” the boy said, frowning. “I am sure someone would teach you.”

Luke was sure nobody would. Nobody ever did something for Luke unless he kissed their feet first. He waited for the boy to lead the horse out of the stables to emerge from the stall, and then he ran back to the kitchen to kneel in the corner and scrape the cold meat off the plates they left at his knees.

 

* * *

 

Luke didn’t go back to the stables for a while. He didn’t want to risk running into someone again, even if they were handsome boys who laughed at him and talked to him like he was their equal when he so clearly wasn’t. Instead, he sat in the woods just beyond the stables, watching nobles come in and out, taking the horses for rides. He looked on eagerly, envying their freedom to come and go as they pleased and to sit atop so fast a beast. It would never be his to enjoy.

He didn’t mind when the cook cuffed him over the head for coming in late and forgetting to clean the room; it was worth it to be able to see the horses, and sit outside. He didn’t even mind when Jack ordered him to clean his clothes, though it was late and Luke wanted to sleep. He would take it every day as long as he got to escape the drudgery of the kitchens.

He saw the boy a few times, riding low on the back of the pretty grey horse that Luke liked so much. She must have been his horse, he thought. He was some nobility—a duke’s son, maybe, or an advanced apprentice—and was clearly well above Luke. Luke knew his place, had to after being kicked into it so many times. But that didn’t stop Luke from admiring him—his strong shoulders, his beautiful clothing, his sharp jawline.

Luke wasn’t as well-hidden as he thought, watching from behind the trees. One day on the way back to the palace, the boy turned his horse around, her nose pointing straight at Luke, and his mouth turned up in a half smile.

“You shouldn’t watch people like that,” he said. “Gives them quite a fright.”

Luke remained where he was, heart pounding. He loved to watch the boy ride; body tilted forward over the horse’s back, muscular legs gripping her sides. He moved with the horse’s natural motion, as if he’d ridden the horse since childhood. Luke thought he probably had.

“Come out in the light,” the boy ordered. He dismounted the horse, wrapping her lead around the nearest tree. She snuffled and pawed at the dirt, but made no effort to move. Luke stepped hesitantly out from behind the tree. The boy crossed his arms and waited.

“I am sorry, sir,” Luke mumbled, afraid he was about to be scolded for doing something he shouldn’t have.

“You have not done anything wrong,” the boy said, tossing his head. “Why do you watch?”

“I like to see the horses run,” Luke said, shaking where he stood. How could he explain to the boy his own effortless beauty? Surely he would have Luke thrown out for daring to think such things. He must have clout, with the way he dressed and talked. Regally, like a prince. Luke knew the prince wouldn’t be out here, though. The prince was meant to stay within the walls of the castle and do princely things. Luke didn’t know what those were.

“Wouldn’t you like to ride one instead?”

Luke shook his head, although he wanted desperately to ride one. The other boy made it look so graceful. Luke couldn’t imagine what it felt like to have the wind rush through his hair and the branches whipping by his face. To travel over the land with lightning speed, to go wherever he wished. But Luke’s place was on the ground, with the dirt. Luke only knew what it was like to press his nose to the floor and beg for forgiveness for his many wrongs; he didn’t know what it would be like to sit so high, to be able to touch the clouds. He dreamed about it, being able to see the world from up high.

“Why not?”

“It is not my place, sir,” Luke said, ducking his head.

“You do not need status to ride a horse.”

Luke disagreed. He would look ridiculous, sitting atop a majestic horse in his tattered clothing. He didn’t look the part, and he would only be embarrassed. And anyway, the cook would never let him out of her sight long enough, let alone grant him the money to pay for instruction.

“You should get going,” Luke nudged politely. “It’s getting dark, and someone like you should not be out alone at this time.”

“Someone like me?”

“You must be important,” Luke added, blushing. “I simply thought—surely someone has a price on your head.”

The boy smiled widely, suddenly. He drew himself up taller, his shoulders seeming impossibly broader. “Do you not know me?”

Luke was bewildered. Should he? He didn’t know anyone important; he might recognize the queen, but that was the extent of his knowledge. He had been kept in the dark about everything; Luke wasn’t even introduced to people. He was merely public property, and addressed as such. He referred to everyone with honorable titles, no matter how low they were, because he was always still lower. The cook had made it thus.

“I do not know you,” Luke replied awkwardly. “I am sorry, sir.”

“No harm done.” The boy began to untie his horse. “I am the—cousin of the prince. Oh, no, don’t look like that—I am hardly royalty. No need to be so formal around me, either. You need not call me sir. If we are going to be meeting like this all the time, might as well talk as equals.”

“I will remember that,” Luke said.

“And you. You should be returning, too. It is dark, as you said.”

“I am nobody,” Luke said with a smile. “I have no money to steal, nor purity to take.”

“Do you mean to say you are not a virgin?” The boy’s question was so direct it brought the blood back to Luke’s cheeks.

“No, sir—just that there is nothing desirable about me.”

“Still, it isn’t safe,” the boy determined. “Allow me to give you a ride back to the castle.”

Luke didn’t trust his ears. “Oh, n-no, sir,” he stuttered. “I could not accept.”

“Why not? Am I not allowed to be concerned for your safety as much as you are for mine? And no more ‘sir,’ remember?”

“But I cannot touch you. And thus I would fall off in a heartbeat.”

“You may touch me. I will not break, you see.”

Luke didn’t laugh, too nervous to consider it. He did not want to press his ugly, stained clothes against the other boy’s expensive clothes. He didn’t want to wrap his dirty fingers around the boy’s waist. Most of all, he didn’t want the boy to smell him before he’d gotten a chance to wash down.

“I would soil your nice clothing,” Luke said ashamedly. “I am not very clean.”

“I have more clothes,” the boy said patiently. “I will not recoil from you. We are all victims of our circumstances, are we not?” Luke did not know how to argue with that. “Come. You may sit in front of me, if you wish, but I suggest sitting behind, or else I may crash us all into a tree. I will help you up.”

Luke waited anxiously as the boy mounted. He reached a hand down to Luke. “Put your foot in the stirrup and swing your other leg over.”

Luke did as he was told, and the boy’s strong grip lifted him enough to get onto the horse, right behind the boy. He was afraid to put his hands on his waist, but the boy took Luke’s hands in his own and placed them on either side of his abdomen. Luke could feel the rigid muscles where he had only sharp bone. Luke trembled where he was. The view was dizzying and more beautiful than he’d imagined; he felt powerful and strong, presiding over a new world. He was no longer a slave. He was noble again.

It was difficult to stay on the horse, but the boy directed the horse to move gently, and helped Luke dismount when they returned to the stables. Luke knew he would have to run back to his quarters, but he allowed the boy to catch him, muscular arms wrapped around his small waist in a way that made Luke’s head spin. Nobody had taken care of him like that for five years.

“Come back tomorrow,” the boy said, still holding him. “I am lonely, and enjoy your company.”

Luke nodded breathlessly. The boy slipped out of the stables, and then Luke was running, running, running.

He got no dinner that night, and was slapped so hard he was sent stumbling against the wall. Another slap, and he fumbled to the floor, cheekbone hitting the corner of the bed. He took it. It made him more eager to escape back to the stables and see the boy who treated him like a prince.

 

* * *

 

The next day, when he tried to slip out the back door of the kitchens, he felt a hand on his ear pulling him, hard, back inside. He yelped, pushing at her hands desperately. She only tightened her grip, and his ear burned. “So you’ve been slipping out, huh? Trying to get out of your work? Do you think you deserve to have your fun outside when the rest of us are working our fingers to the bone?”

Luke shook his head numbly, afraid to say anything at all.

The cook pushed him to the corner. Luke knew it well. He spent most of his time here, repenting for mistakes. She forced him down on his knees, and his head dropped to his chest. He could feel the rest of the servants watching with some sort of amusement. His knees, always bruised from it, ached insistently. He didn’t dare look up.

She left him there for what Luke thought was an hour, judging by the rate the sun was going down. He knew with certainty that the boy would be gone by now, surely. It made him miserable to think he missed his chance to see the boy again.

Finally, she hauled him up by the collar. “So you like nature,” she said slyly. “What is it you like, hmm? The flowers? The trees?” Luke nodded timidly. “Do you like the rain?” She shifted her grip to his hair and tugged hard. Luke inhaled sharply and audibly in surprise and pain. “Answer me.”

“Yes. Yes, I love all of those things,” Luke hurried to say. His eyes watered at the feeling of his hair yanked tight.

“Why don’t we go outside?” She gave him no option, shoving him toward the door Luke had tried to escape through an hour earlier. The air outside had turned cold with the evening, and Luke shivered. Before he realized what was happening, he felt himself drenched in icy water. He stiffened with a gasp and shuddered, his clothes soaked and plastered to his skin.

“Enjoy the rain,” the cook hissed in his ear, and slammed the door shut on the laughter that had begun inside.

Luke fought off the urge to cry. He wanted to take off then and there, run to the stables, the woods, even if the boy was no longer waiting for him. He wanted to run away, disappear into the woods and live there on his own. He knew enough about the flora to survive, probably, but he couldn’t survive against bears and the cold.

So he stood, wet and freezing, and waited to be allowed back in.

He didn’t dare leave the kitchens for days after. The boy would think Luke abandoned him. Maybe Luke dreamed the whole thing; maybe he imagined the few extra seconds the boy held him. It eased the ache in his heart to think that way.

He didn’t get the chance to see the boy again for an agonizing week. He finally managed to get down to the stables when he was sent outside to fetch water. He barely had the courage to go to the stables instead; he knew he would be scolded for wasting his time.

Miraculously, the boy was in the stall with his horse, talking to her. Luke couldn’t resist smiling at the welcome sight.

The boy sensed Luke’s presence and looked up, catching his eyes. “Oh, look who showed up.”

“I apologize,” Luke said, looking at the floor. “I could not get away.”

“No harm done.” The boy beckoned Luke closer. “You said you wanted to ride a horse.”

Luke didn’t remember saying that exactly, but it wasn’t a lie. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, uncertain of what was to come. “I would not be able to.”

“You would, if someone taught you,” the boy insisted. “It is not difficult.”

“But who would teach me?”

“I would.” The boy preempted Luke’s response with, “Don’t laugh. It must seem strange, my offer. I am not mocking you.”

“I could not accept,” Luke hurried to decline. He chose his words carefully to avoid hurting the boy’s feelings. “You should not waste your time on a slave.”

“I want to teach you. Am I not allowed to choose how I spend my time?”

“Forgive me,” Luke mumbled, ducking his head. “I do not question your authority.”

“I am not ordering you,” the boy said, frowning. “Do not mistake me. I simply thought to offer. Do you want to learn?”

Luke had no idea what he was supposed to say. Was the boy offering out of politeness? Was it an empty offer? Nobody asked Luke what he wanted; nobody cared what Luke wanted. He _wanted_ to ride a horse. He _didn’t want_ to be a burden.

“I do not mean to pressure you,” the boy added. “I should not wish to cow you into an activity that would displease you.”

“It would please me,” Luke whispered, looking at his feet shyly. “If it is not too much to ask, I would like to learn.”

“Good,” the boy said, breaking into a smile. “I was hoping you would say yes.”

“But, I cannot come every day.”

“Why not?”

“I must work,” Luke said, not wanting to tell him the real reason he never left.

“Forgive me for forgetting.”

“We both have our places,” Luke allowed. “Yours is not to remember mine.”

They both seemed to be blushing, remembering their difference. Luke felt small and filthy then, talking to royalty like it was his equal. Luke couldn’t get carried away.

“I will teach you anyway,” the boy resumed, covering the awkward pause. “I am here every evening.”

“Thank you,” Luke breathed. “I cannot stay.”

“Go. I will meet you here again.”

Luke nodded gratefully, scrambling off with the still-empty bucket of water in his hand. In his heart, he felt a stirring. What did he need fine clothes and a fancy bed for? Didn’t this boy make him feel like he was the wearing riches instead of rags? What was wealth, when he had a friend?

 

* * *

 

Luke’s first lesson was intimidating. He wanted to impress the other boy, who looked like merely an extension of the horse when he rode. Luke felt awkward, gripping the sides of a small horse with his knees, fingers tight around the reins. He was afraid to move, lest the horse take off or buck him. The other boy sat atop his own horse, who was bigger and taller, and carefully instructed Luke.

Luke had scrubbed his skin as clean as thoroughly as he could, the pale, dull expanse of flesh turning red and then white under the cold water. He hadn’t allowed himself so long a shower in ages, mostly because he had no reason to. He only became dirty the next day taking out garbage and mopping the floors, or whatever menial task he could be assigned. His limited clothes were more or less in the same state of disrepair, and so it mattered little what he chose. But he felt at least a bit better to stand in front of the wealthier boy when his sun-deprived skin held no trace of dirt.

The boy was patient with him, positioning Luke’s hands without hesitation and encouraging him along the way. For the hour Luke could spare, he forgot the existence he would have to return to. Sundays were always the best days, because the royal family always took dinner early and retired to their chambers for an evening of prayer and solitude. As a result, the kitchen staff received their only breaks of the whole year on Sunday evenings. It meant Luke got time to slip out, usually. As long as he didn’t get back too late and wake the cook and her sons, he could get away with it.

When Luke had had enough, they led the horses back to the stable and Luke collapsed in the hay of an empty stall. His rear end was sore from the stiff saddle and the rocking motion of the horse he had yet to adjust to. He couldn’t help but smile, feeling a surge of joy at the fact that he’d ridden a horse. Badly, and painfully, but he’d done it. And perhaps it hadn’t been as magical as he’d built it up to be in his head, but he hoped it would come with time.

The boy flopped down next to Luke, sighing contentedly. “Did you like it?”

“Oh, yes,” Luke said earnestly, sitting up. “It was—nice. Thank you.”

“It was what you hoped for?”

“Yes, very much so. Thank you—thank you. I had only dreamed,” Luke added softly. “I imagine I have much to improve on.”

“Perhaps, but—” He inclined his head with a smile. “You did just fine today.”

“Thank you. Um—should you be lying here? Won’t your clothes be ruined?”

The boy coughed politely. “More where they came from.”

It seemed callous to behave with such disregard for his expensive clothes. He had to be very wealthy to be so reckless. If Luke’s clothes could be saved from further damage, he would be on his feet in an instant. Luke didn’t know how he felt about it.

“I do not know your name,” Luke said, changing the subject.

“Oh.” The boy hesitated, and Luke frowned at the pause. How could he not know his name? Or did he not wish to give it to Luke, for the sake of keeping their arrangement a secret?

“Do you not wish to disclose your name?” Luke asked, trying to give him a way out.

“Oh, no. It’s Fletcher.”

Fletcher. It didn’t seem a very regal name, but what did Luke know about royalty, anyway?

“And you?” the boy added. “Your name.”

Luke shifted uncomfortably in the hay. It prickled his neck and hands. “They call me Cinderluke,” he said, avoiding Fletcher’s eyes.

“What an odd name,” he remarked, his brow furrowing. “Is that your real name?”

Luke floundered. “No, but—for as long as I can remember—they called me that. You could, too, if you wanted.”

“Why do they call you that?”

“I sleep by a fireplace,” Luke admitted reluctantly. “Sometimes, when I rise, there are cinders on my clothes, and on my face.”

“And they shame you for it?”

“They do not regard me as an equal.”

“I don’t want to call you that,” Fletcher decided firmly. “What is your given name?”

“My name is—Luke. Just Luke.” Luke felt himself stumbling over his name, unaccustomed to introducing himself as such. He nearly thought of himself only as Cinderluke now, refused to consider that he was worthy of more.

“That’s a nice name,” Fletcher murmured. “Better than Cinderluke, don’t you think?”

“Whatever you wish,” Luke said, inclining his head.

“Luke, then. Just Luke. I would not wish to insult you like that.”

“Thank you,” Luke said, smiling as a surge of gratitude took him. “I should be going, then.”

“All right. You will return?”

“When I can. Goodbye, Fletcher.”

“Goodbye, Luke.”

As Luke ran from the stables towards his quarters, he could not tear the smile from his face. The cold evening breeze blew his hair back from his face. He should cut it, wash it thoroughly; he wanted it to be as clean and short as Fletcher’s, whose curls were always neatly kept. He wanted to be up high again, as sore as it made him. He wanted to be free like Fletcher was.

“Where have you been?” the cook demanded to know when he returned, face flushed and breath coming fast. “You haven’t cleaned out the fireplace in days. There is soot everywhere. I have been lenient, and you pay me back with laziness?”

“I will clean it out now,” Luke replied, taking the short handled broom and the dustpan. He got on his knees and began to sweep out the hearth. The dust billowed out into his face, and he coughed, turning his face.

“And you haven’t fixed the rip in my tunic,” Ben said, throwing it at Luke’s feet. “I told you yesterday.”

“I’m sorry. I will do it tonight.”

“You have been slacking,” she spat. “You will patch my dress as well. It is wearing through. Practically threadbare.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Luke finished cleaning the fireplace and moved on to the clothes that had been laid at his feet. He dug out his needle from his sack of things and threaded it. He lit the candle he kept when the room became too dark to see. He worked, for an hour, while his stepfamily slept, until his eyes hurt from straining and his fingers ached.

Still, when he fell asleep, he dreamed that he was flying, Fletcher right by his side.

 

* * *

 

Luke didn’t mind his daily toil so much when he knew that at the end of the week, maybe before, he would get to ride a horse and talk with Fletcher. The cook found new ways to pull him up if he had done all his work; pinching him hard if he forgot to address her as _ma’am_ , creating impossible tasks like cleaning the room top to bottom (after which there was always something Luke inevitably missed), or making him clean out greasy pots and pans that took him all day and ate up his chances to see Fletcher. But Luke worked harder. He was determined to get time in.

He learned things bit by bit. Fletcher was 19, three years older than Luke, and liked to read. He hated practicing with his sword, but he had to do it anyway. He spent his mornings and afternoons in lessons nearly every day, and looked forward to coming outside to ride his horse, Grey. “Don’t laugh,” he had said when he told Luke her name. “I was young when I got her. We were both too small for me to ride her, but I knew one day I would.”

Luke avoided questions about his own life, sticking to brief descriptions of his labor in the kitchens. Fletcher said he hadn’t worked a day in his life. He would have to, someday, when he came of age, but given his title of Duke, his responsibility would be relatively simple. Luke tried harder to impress him. He snagged a fairly new tunic from one of the older kitchen boys, one he grew out of too quickly. Luke only wore it to see Fletcher.

Jack, though he wasn’t very bright, noticed Luke trying harder.

“What’s all the effort for, Cinders?” he sneered. “Got someone to see? Don’t you know nobody will touch you?”

“Can’t I look nice for myself?”

“Doesn’t matter what you wear. Nobody’ll be fooled for a second.” Something malicious glinted in his eye. “Be a shame if someone found out what you were up to.”

The thought of them taking Fletcher from him was more than Luke could bear. “Don’t,” he whispered, his stomach churning at the thought. “Please.”

He was lucky it was Jack and not Ben. After all, Jack sometimes got a slap across the cheek for something or other. He wasn’t immune. Like Luke, he had failed to fully become one of the cook’s own. Luke was still beholden to him as much as Ben or his stepmother, but Jack was more sympathetic now and then.

Jack must have been feeling merciful that day, because he pursed his lips and didn’t tell.

When Luke got out to the stables, Fletcher was there, as always. He had promised to take Luke into the woods and to a little lake, and Luke was so excited he couldn’t stand it. He wanted it to be now, he wanted it later so he could look forward to it, he wanted it to be forever so it never ended, and it hadn’t even started. By the time Luke got there, he had run it over so many times in his head he was afraid it wouldn’t live up to expectations.

Fletcher helped him saddle up and mount, and then they started out at a slow trot towards the woods. Luke was getting used to the strange motion of the horse, and he was improving at directing it.

“Had a good day?” Fletcher remarked, watching Luke. Luke’s own eyes were fixed firmly ahead of him. “You look happy.”

“I was anticipating this, now.”

“Ah, so you smile because of me.” Fletcher smiled in return. “Flattering.”

Luke blushed, his face burning hot. “I only meant to say I enjoy riding.”

“Hmm, of course. I don’t suppose you enjoy the company.” Fletcher’s eyes held a teasing glint, belying the crinkling smile lines. Luke loved to watch him smile.

“Oh, no, sir, I do,” Luke rushed to reassure him. “Very much so.”

“Relax. I am only making light. I enjoy your company as well.”

“What about it?” Luke pressed. He didn’t know what his own personality was; he didn’t know if he had one. It seemed sometimes that he was nothing more than a speck of dust, insignificant and stripped of identity. He was quiet and apologetic and subservient, and it leached away his former nature.

“You are fun to tease. You are appreciative, patient, sweet. You love even the ugly birds and would risk punishment for sneaking out to ride.” Fletcher tapped his cheekbone, mirroring the spot where Luke’s was bruised. He knew, then, to some extent. “Yet still you are kind, and expect little of me. You are less bitter than men who have experienced far more privilege than you have been allowed.” Luke swallowed hard, taken aback by his words. “What strange angel are you, Luke? How can you be so forgiving of the world when it has done you wrong? Do you not wish for more?”

Luke was rendered speechless for a moment, befuddled. It had never occurred to him to be resentful. “What good would it do? It could not buy me back riches or family.”

Fletcher stopped his horse by the water and dismounted, anchoring her to the tree before coming around to help Luke down. Luke had a tendency to get his feet caught in the stirrups.

“What riches and family did you have, Luke?” he inquired, once Luke was solidly on the ground.

Luke made his way to the water’s edge, crouching to touch the cold, clear water. He felt Fletcher hovering behind, waiting for an answer. “I had nothing,” Luke murmured. “Forgive my slip.”

“No, please,” Fletcher begged. “Tell me. You have never once disclosed your past. Won’t you please tell me?”

Luke smiled halfheartedly. “What is it to you?”

“We are friends,” Fletcher decided. “You can tell me anything.”

 _Friends._ The word made Luke’s heart expand so wide he thought it would burst. He had a friend. He wasn’t useless, or worthless, like his stepfamily and the other servants liked to tell him. And he wasn’t alone. Heart swollen with pride, Luke allowed himself to speak.

“I lived alone with my father. He worked for the king. In the guard, you know. He was gone often, but I didn’t mind. I thought he was the bravest and the kindest and the best man in the world. I guess all kids think that about their dads.” Luke took a stone and skipped it across the waters. “I really liked it with him, you know. We weren’t so badly off.”

“He sounds great,” Fletcher said. “What happened, then?”

“Died protecting the king. And in the end, the king died too. It makes it easier to know that he died doing something good and brave, I guess. I don’t think of him much anymore.”

“You would have been—” Fletcher paused and counted back. “12?”

“11.”

“It must have been very hard.”

Luke shrugged, watching the water ripple. “I suppose it was. I don’t think about it much anymore. I wanted to be able to say how sorry I was to the prince—your cousin, right?—since he lost his father, too. I thought he must have been very lonely, in a big castle on his own.”

“He had his mother.”

“It must still have been awful,” Luke insisted. “He was only a few years older than me. And all that pressure, to be king someday.”

“But you suffered more for it. He didn’t have to give up his home or his status or anything.”

“What does it matter? We were both children. We both lost someone we loved. He could not have helped his position. And I would not blame him for choosing his position, either.”

Fletcher smiled widely, and reached over to touch Luke’s hand. Luke jumped, surprised, but settled almost immediately. “Do you always put others before yourself, Luke?”

“My father told me to be loving, patient, and polite. He believed the only real difference in people was how they treated others. He said that’s what set us apart.”

“You are an anomaly. You have more kindness in your little finger than most people do in their whole bodies.”

“I only try to treat others with care.”

“I have never met anyone like you,” Fletcher admitted.

“What kind of people do you meet, then?”

Fletcher tossed his head back. “Oh, lord. Boring people. People who have a stick up their arses.”

“Fletcher,” Luke said, alarmed.

“Oh, come on. It’s true. Nobody like you, that’s for sure. They’re all selfish and greedy. There are nice ones, though.”

“And maidens?” Luke pressed. Some part of him was hoping Fletcher would have nothing good to say about them, either.

“Hm? Maidens? I think you overestimate the company I keep.”

“How so?”

“I don’t see many children my age. My job growing up was—to, um, rule a successful—duchy. It was never about making friends.”

“That’s sad,” Luke said with a frown, although he was glad Fletcher hadn’t met any girls he wanted to marry. In any case, Fletcher had assured him, marriage was far off.

“I guess. I was content with my books, though. I read an awful lot of them. Anyway, I don’t have to anymore. I have you now.”

Luke beamed, a glow spreading through him. “Forever and always.”

“Right.” Fletcher rubbed his hand once more. “Can I ask you a question?”

“By all means, ask.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but—do all servants dress the way you do?”

Luke swallowed hard, pinching the front of his tunic and looking down at the fabric. Despite it being his best, it was hardly in good shape; it was worn and ridiculously large and stained by grease that wouldn’t come out no matter how hard he scrubbed. It was ugly and ratty compared to Fletcher’s luxurious, pristine clothing. Even compared to the other servants. To Luke, it was as good as it would get.

“No,” he confessed. “Just me.”

“Oh,” Fletcher mumbled, flushing. “I should not have pried.”

“No, no. It—I do not mind.” Luke stumbled over his words. “I should not dress like this in your presence. I have nothing else.”

“No, don’t,” Fletcher said immediately, guilt setting into his face. “I didn’t mean it like that, I just—please don’t feel bad. Why are you the only one?”

“You ask such personal questions.”

“I’m sorry. I am not accustomed to being allowed to be frank with others.”

“Because I take what they give me,” Luke answered abruptly. “They would not have me wear anything better.”

“I should not have asked.”

“It is within your right.”

“But I did not mean to abuse my power,” Fletcher said, bowing his head. “Forgive me. I did not mean any insult to you.”

“It is fine.” Luke brushed him off. “It is not your world to live in. You could not have anticipated the answer.”

“I could bring you nicer clothes. You should not have to wear rags.”

“It would be no use. They would take them away the first chance they got.” Luke cracked a smile, attempting to lighten the mood and take it away from his sorry clothes. “I am fine with what I have. Rich is the man who is loved, not who is wealthy.”

He left out the part about nobody loving him, because Fletcher would only feel worse.

“You are right, as always.”

Fletcher moved his hand away from Luke’s at last. It made Luke feel strange and empty to not have it resting upon his. He wished Fletcher would move it back, connect their fingers again, but he did not.

“I should get home,” Luke said reluctantly. “Are you ready to go?”

Fletcher nodded and stood before helping Luke up. He was a real gentleman, Luke thought. He had to be, as nobility, but Luke was willing to bet not all noblemen were like Fletcher. He shouldn’t have wanted Fletcher to touch his hand so badly as he did.

Fletcher made sure Luke was safely on his horse before they rode back to the stables, still slowly. Luke yearned to find out what it felt like to fly through the trees, the wind making a home in his hair.

Jack gave Luke a suspicious look when he returned that night and began his daily task of sweeping out the fireplace, but he said nothing. Luke’s hand tightened around his pillow when he finally lay down that night, wishing he was holding someone else’s hand instead of the ratty fabric.

 

* * *

 

Luke must have met Fletcher a dozen times at least, and he was riding faster and faster with each visit. It was every bit as exhilarating as it had been in all his dreams. But more exhilarating, Luke found, was when his skin brushed Fletcher’s.

He supposed it was a natural reaction. He didn’t have a friend, and nobody touched him. The servant girls used to shriek if they brushed shoulders with him, jumping back and exaggerating their disgust. Certainly, nobody had held him since his father’s passing, not once, and even if the longest hug they shared was when Fletcher held him a bit too long after catching him from a dismount, it felt like a rush of excitement. His odd infatuation was easily explained, then; he was touch-deprived, and just the feeling of Fletcher’s breath fanning across his skin had his hair rising.

It felt sometimes that, deep in the woods or across an open meadow, their statuses were meaningless. Fletcher wasn’t nobility; he was Luke’s friend. Luke wasn’t a slave; he was Fletcher’s friend. Neither of them had ever really had a friend, in all actuality, and they were both equally desperate to spend time together.

Today, Fletcher was waiting outside the stables. He had a basket in one hand and was leaning against the wall with a smile. He waved with his free hand, waiting for Luke to come closer.

“What is it?” Luke asked, eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

“I wanted to do something different today,” Fletcher explained. “We’re going on a picnic.”

“A picnic?”

Fletcher’s smile faltered a bit, doubt filtering through his features. “Yeah. Eat dinner together. It isn’t—nothing serious, just—I thought it would be nice.” After a pause, he added, “You know what a picnic is, right?”

“Of course I do,” Luke protested indignantly. “I’m not thick.”

“I hope you don’t mind. Because I know you like riding so much, but I just—wanted to do something different. Something where we can really talk.” Fletcher looked anxious, as if he thought Luke was going to reject his suggestion. Which was ridiculous, because Luke would do anything Fletcher wanted to.

“Then let’s go. What are we waiting for?”

Fletcher perked up at that. Luke couldn’t help a twinge of eagerness in his gut at the thought of doing something that bordered on romantic. It wasn’t like they would ever have a chance together—not that Luke was thinking about it.

Fletcher led him down the forest trail they normally rode down, but he took a fork Luke had never explored. The trees overhead blocked the sun, and Luke shivered, keeping close to Fletcher. Soon enough, though, the trees receded into a clearing. The sun broke through again, brightening the colors of the wildflowers scattered through the soft grass.

“I come here sometimes,” Fletcher admitted. “I don’t usually like to show people, because—because it is _my_ place, but—I thought it was only fair to share it with you.”

Luke’s heart swelled, knowing that Fletcher thought he was special and trustworthy enough to share his precious place with. He wished he had someplace special, some space of his own to share with Fletcher, to show his own trust. He hoped Fletcher understood how close Luke held him.

Fletcher spread the blanket over a low patch of grass. He set the basket down and sat beside it, legs folded, and beckoned for Luke to do the same. “C’mon. Sit down.”

Luke did, feeling strange. He had never been on a picnic before. He’d heard the other boys in the kitchen talking about taking their girls on dates, on picnics, for lunches. Luke had always dreamed of going on a picnic. Not with anyone in particular, because he did not know who would agree to go or take him, but he had daydreamed from time to time about what it would be like.

Fletcher began to unload the basket. It was filled with delicacies Luke had only seen made, never tasted; he must have gone into town to get them, since Luke had been in the kitchen all day and had not seen Fletcher or heard such orders placed. Luke’s mouth watered longingly at the smell. He never ate this well.

“Luke? This is okay, right?” Luke looked up, catching Fletcher’s troubled eyes. They wavered on Luke’s, waiting.

“Of course it is,” Luke answered, smiling brightly. “You really—I am allowed to eat all this?”

“Half of it,” Fletcher corrected scoldingly. “But yes, of course.”

Luke picked up a roll of bread. It was still warm in his hand, and with eager eyes, he bit into it. He was used to cold, stale, half-eaten bread. This was soft and warm and all for him.

“It is wonderful,” Luke enthused around a mouthful of bread. Realizing he had forgotten his manners, he clapped a hand over his mouth. “Forgive me.”

“It is only bread,” Fletcher laughed, amused. “You should try the meat pies.”

Luke tried to eat as slowly and politely as he could, well aware that Fletcher ate as a nobleman should, but he could hardly help himself from taking big bites and gulping it down. It was better food than he had eaten in years.

“You have crumbs all over your mouth,” Luke said with a giggle to Fletcher, who blushed and used a napkin to brush the crumbs off.

“You must have been very hungry,” Fletcher noted, deflecting the attention. “You tore through that.”

Luke had finished his food before Fletcher, who took dainty bites and chewed slowly. He supposed it was easy to pace yourself when you weren’t ravenous. “You eat like a hare.”

“Do you not get enough food?”

“Hardly,” Luke replied honestly. “They eat the rejects of what we feed everyone else, and then I eat the scraps of what they reject. It is so often cold, too.”

“I should bring you food more often.”

“My stepmother would want to know why I wasn’t thin as a child.”

“It is not fair, that I can procure this in a heartbeat, and you, never.”

“At least I get to eat like a normal human,” Luke shot back with a teasing grin. “You, on the other hand, fancy yourself a mouse, or something.”

“Nobility cares not for the roughness of the poor.” With a stricken look, Fletcher added, “Not that I mind the way you eat. Simply that—we are raised differently, no?”

“Come on, take a big bite. Eat like a peasant for today. Otherwise, I will be through with dessert before you finish dinner.”

“And how do you know exactly that I have dessert for you?”

Luke gave Fletcher a hopeful look.

“Okay, fine, I do,” he relented with a sigh.

“Come on. I want to see you eat messily.”

“I don’t eat messily, Luke. I had to take years’ worth of manners classes.”

“Do it so I won’t feel so oafish.”

“I don’t think you’re oafish,” Fletcher protested. “You are hungry and nobody trained you to eat like a pretentious arsehole.”

“Please,” Luke begged, trying to soften him up. “Just throw that away for right now.”

Fletcher heaved a long, much-aggrieved sigh. “Only for you.”

It was amazing to see Fletcher eat an entire meat pie, which was practically the size of Luke’s palm, all in one bite. His cheeks bulged as he tries to chew it.

“Now say something,” Luke said with a giggle. “Talk like a peasant.”

Fletcher came up with something obscene, which sent Luke into hysterics. He thought it strange that Fletcher’s language was far more profane than his own, despite Fletcher’s superior upbringing. Fletcher eventually managed to swallow it all, and then slapped Luke’s arm in retribution for him laughing so hard.

“If you’re done making a fool of me, we can eat dessert,” Fletcher announced, trying to ignore the red in his cheeks and suppress his own smile.

Dessert turned out to be small custard tarts, one for each of them, fresh berries and a pretty red liquid that Luke didn’t recognize. He took it in his hand, shaking it lightly. “What is this?”

“Strawberry wine. Haven’t you had it before?”

“No.”

“Well, you know what the Romans said. Carpe diem.”

“They did? What does that mean?”

“Seize the day. The only thing I remember from Latin.”

Luke hesitantly lifted the bottle to his lips and took a sip. Sweet, heady liquid washed over his tongue and down his throat. The scent was strong and dizzying, but pleasant. It tasted of strawberries, as he expected it would, but of something bitter, too.

“I have never drunk wine before,” Luke said, handing the bottle back. He felt a bit light on his feet just then.

“Oh, don’t have too much. I can hardly send you home piss-drunk, now can I?”

Fletcher was teasing, but he leaned forward, as if to make sure Luke was really all right. He took a swig of the wine himself, sitting back again.

“Give it back, I want more,” Luke whined.

“I really don’t want you to get drunk. After all, you’re much smaller than I, and you haven’t drunk before.”

Luke took a bite of his pastry instead, which was growing cold but still incredible. Luke couldn’t remember the last time he’d been treated to dessert. He sighed contentedly, trying to savor the taste. He didn’t know when he’d next get something nice like this.

“I bet you eat like this all the time,” Luke groaned, wishing he could too.

“Yeah,” Fletcher admitted uncomfortably. “I would bring more for you, if you allowed me.”

“You needn’t worry about me,” Luke said with a brief smile. “It wouldn’t be as special if you treated me like a prince every day.”

Fletcher laughed nervously. “Right, like a prince.”

“I mean to say thank you,” Luke said, looking away. “For taking care of me.”

“Someone has to.”

Luke didn’t want to say anything that Fletcher would feel forced to reciprocate, but in his heart, he desperately wanted to be able to thank Fletcher for all the things he had been allowed to experience these past months. He wanted to be able to take Fletcher’s hand and envelop him in a hug, show his affection in the fiercely physical way he ached for. He wanted so much more than he could ever have, because of who they were and who they were born to.

Instead, he let Fletcher swipe off the custard from the side of his mouth with a fond smile. He would be friends with him, if that’s all they could have. Luke loved him badly enough in that moment that he’d take whatever he was allowed.

 

* * *

 

Luke thought the pain in his chest wouldn’t stop. If he was hurting when his father died, he was hurting more now. Nobody could have convinced him that love could hurt more than grief. And it was love, of some kind, that had Luke short of breath as he scrubbed the floor. It was love, stuffed down his throat, pouring from his pores, tensing in his fingers. Luke had nothing else to call it.

It was love for Fletcher.

By the time he managed to get away from the kitchens, he felt it dredging up in his throat. He knew that he could not keep it in forever. Eventually, it would come up.

And it haunted Luke. It followed him and stayed on the forefront of his mind, enough to distract him and get him cuffed for daydreaming.

The air was full of tension that winter.

Luke did not go outside so much anymore. There were guards everywhere, and sometimes when Luke went to the stables in spite of the cold, Fletcher was not there. It was because of the queen, who had taken ill unexpectedly. There were whispers of poisoning. The castle itself seemed to mourn. Luke wondered if Fletcher was gone because of it.

At long last, Luke finally caught Fletcher. He was within the stables, face shadowed as he bent over Grey, stroking her flank and whispering to her. Luke stopped short in the doorway, afraid to disturb him. But Fletcher sensed his presence anyway.

“Luke,” he said, the word tumbling from numb, swollen lips. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been looking for you,” Luke said, trembling. “Your aunt—I heard—I am awfully sorry.”

“It is not your fault,” Fletcher said thickly.

“Still. I am sorry.”

Fletcher sighed. “I cannot teach you today. I am too afflicted.”

“I only thought to see if you were all right,” Luke amended. “I do not expect anything of you.”

“I would still like your company. I am sorry to have missed you for so long; I could not get away.” Fletcher paused, looking first at Luke, and then at his own heavy winter clothes. “You must be half-frozen.”

“Not half,” Luke joked. “Completely.”

Fletcher allowed a partial smile, before it disappeared. “We cannot go outside, then. You would die of the cold.”

“I wouldn’t mind, if it was what would please you.” Luke stepped closer and wrapped his own cold hand around Fletcher’s. “We don’t have to do anything.”

Fletcher looked down at where their hands joined and nodded. Luke thought he saw something slide into place behind his eyes, a determination.

They ended up in a corner of a stall, the straw unused and clean. Luke was huddled inside Fletcher’s winter coat, shielded from the draught that periodically swept through the wooden building. Fletcher was talking, low and quiet in Luke’s ear.

Luke listened. They were still holding hands. He felt Fletcher’s pain as acutely as if it were his. Fletcher seemed to calm down as he talked, as if the words simply needed an escape to free his mind. But when he ran out of breath, he detached.

“Fletch,” Luke whispered, nudging him. Fletcher was staring at the stall walls and his mouth was moving, but Luke couldn’t hear a word.

“This isn’t fair,” Fletcher said suddenly.

“I know,” Luke said.

“No, not—I can’t do this,” Fletcher said, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands. “I have something to tell you.”

“I have something to tell you too,” Luke said, swallowing hard and growing nervous. _I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love._

Fletcher tossed his head back. “You first.”

“No, you.”

Fletcher took a deep breath, avoiding looking at Luke. “I have lied to you. About who I am. I am—not who you think I am.”

“What do you mean?” Luke said, drawing back. “You’re Fletcher, you’re going to be a duke, and you’re the heir prince’s cousin. And you’re my friend. That’s who you are.”

“No,” Fletcher said, exhaling heavily, as if in pain. “No, Luke, that’s not who I am.”

“I’m failing to understand,” Luke said, throat tightening on him. “Who are you?”

“I am Ashton,” he said, shutting his eyes like he wanted to shut out Luke. “ _I_ am the prince. It is _my_ mother who is ill, and it is _me_ who must find a bride.”

Luke felt like his world was slipping out from beneath his feet. He felt his heart crumbling, the words _I’m in love_ dying on his lips, and worst of all, a pain greater than before.

He could not attach the name _Ashton_ to the boy in front of him, He could not understand how he had built a friendship on a facade. And he could not fathom how a beautiful, kind boy could do this to him.

“I should never have deceived you,” Ashton said, reaching for Luke. Luke stood abruptly, shaking violently in the cold and his anger. “Please. Luke. I never meant it to go so far. I did not know I would learn to love you. I only wanted to experience life as everyone else did. It was so lovely to be someone else.”

“What was I to you?” Luke mumbled, his teeth chattering. “A pawn in your rich man’s game? A poor, filthy peasant to mock?”

“You know I have never looked down on you,” Ashton countered, stricken.

“I have never been anything but honest with you, and you let me make a fool of myself. As if I, a slave, could ever be what a prince wanted!”

“It was never like that!”

“You made me a fool,” Luke repeated, frozen. His features wouldn’t soften into a gentler expression. He could not stop the bitter flood of words. He felt humiliated, now, dressed the way he was, with bruises over his cheeks and down his back where it disappeared beneath his tunic, in comparison to royalty. He would have been foolish to hope for something so risky with a duke; he would be even more foolish to hope for the same with a prince. “I have touched your hand.”

“It changes nothing,” Ashton swore. “I am still your friend. I did not lie about my feelings. What should it matter that I am a prince and not a duke? I am still the same, am I not?”

“You aren’t the same,” Luke said, making for the door. “The Fletcher you led me to know would never have lied to me. He would have done the kind thing and told me from the start. But you didn’t. You were right, _Your Highness_. You truly aren’t who I thought you were.”

Luke shut his heart to the prince’s pleas, and the tears froze on his cheeks before they could fall to the snow. He was wrong, then; love didn’t hurt more than grief. Love and grief hurt the same, especially when together, and now, he was grieving for the friend he knew he had lost.

 

* * *

 

Luke didn’t venture outside for a long, long time.

He couldn’t bring himself to endure the cold without the promise of another warm body, and he didn’t want to risk running into Fletcher—or Ashton, as he supposed he really was. He repeated the name in his head: _Ashton, Ashton, Ashton, Ashton_. He reran the scenes of them together in his head, trying to reconcile his memories with the knowledge that the boy he had accidentally begun to love was really the prince. All this time, Luke had been courting the heir to the throne. The thought rattled around in his head. He could hardly believe he had been friends with the man who would be king someday.

He considered that he had overreacted; it was hardly likely that Ashton had meant any harm in his deception. Luke had been given the chance to be someone else too, and he’d enjoyed that just as much. He could not judge Ashton for wanting an escape.

But his heart was too heavy to seek Ashton out. Luke knew now that his formerly slim chances had now disappeared. Heir princes could not marry common folk, and Luke was the commonest of them all. By law, it was impossible. Luke resigned himself to the possibility that he would never speak to his only friend again.

Ben took special pleasure in taunting him. He always had, and Jack must have told him at some point that Luke was sneaking out to see someone, because he capitalized on Luke’s misery. Luke woke up to the tunic he always wore to see Ashton, long since retired with no use for it, smeared in ash from the fireplace. A fitting garment, Ben said, for _Cinderluke._

Luke said he didn’t want to be called that anymore, but Ben insisted it was cruel to mislead Luke about what he deserved.

They took advantage of his fragility and worked him harder for it. Luke was too emotionally wrung out to concentrate, and he was too upset to be rocked by the punishments they set him. Instead, he felt as though he were frozen all through his body, and took it silently.

Privately, though, he listened when people talked about the royal family, he hoped for good news about Ashton’s mother. As much as he hated the whole situation, the last thing he wanted was for Ashton to lose his last parent. Luke understood what it was like to be alone in the world. He also was sure Ashton didn’t want to be thrust into the role of king yet.

But apart from the queen’s health declining, the worst news Luke heard was that Ashton would be searching for his bride at the winter ball.

It shouldn’t have even crossed his mind to be upset when for one, Ashton could not marry another boy anyway, and two, Luke was common. But the thought of Ashton giving himself to a girl, a princess, who was far more cultured and mannered than Luke, made Luke unbearably sad. Worst of all, everyone was going to the ball.

It didn’t matter that Ashton was only courting princesses. It would have been an uncomfortably empty ball if only princesses came; there weren’t enough to fill the ballroom, surely. The ball was being opened to the whole kingdom, and it was the only topic of conversation for a painful week.

It was only fair, Luke decided, that he attend. Maybe for a glimpse of Ashton, to catch his eye. He hadn’t seen Ashton in going on a month, nor had he left the castle walls. A ball would surely spice things up.

When the day dawned, the cook got dressed in her finest dress and bought new clothes for her sons. Luke knew there would be no clothes for him, but had desperately washed his tunic to get the ash out and was already dressed by the time they returned from the tailor’s.

“Oh, look,” Ben said with a raucous laugh. He had grown to look like his mother, mean and narrow eyed. “Cinders thinks he’s going somewhere.”

“Oh no, dear,” she said, laughing along. “We wouldn’t want to disrespect the prince by putting you in his presence. No, better to leave the trash where it belongs.”

Luke wanted to yell that he had been with the prince before, that he had held his hand and shared his coat, but he would do himself no favors and knew it. Miserable, his throat too tight to speak, he watched them finish getting ready. The ball was the biggest event the peasants had been allowed to attend in quite a while. Luke was not to even be a part of it.

“I don’t want to see you at that ball,” she warned, closing her compact and putting her hand on the door. “Or you will pay, I promise.”

Luke sat by the dwindling fire and watched them leave, his eyes stinging. When they were all gone, he hugged his knees to his chest and tried not to cry.

It wasn’t fair. Being treated like dirt and not even being allowed to do what everyone else was doing, not even for a night. He wished that he could go to the ball and wear pretty clothes like everyone else, he wished he could tell Ashton he was sorry even though he wasn’t completely. He would have settled for being friends. He wanted all of Ashton he could reach.

As if in a trance, he found himself rising from the dying fire and moving toward the door. He had to see the ball. He had to see the pretty dresses twirling around, all the velvet and lace and silk, the sounds of the orchestra rising above the voices. Ringing laughter, soft lights.

Luke could picture Ashton having his first dance, his large hands settled on a girl’s waist. A girl, with pretty curls all down her back and a dress finer than anything Luke would ever wear. A girl who Ashton would love harder than he ever loved Luke, something deep and passionate and carnal. He could picture her body against his, and the smooth ease Ashton danced with, the result of years of ballroom dancing lessons.

He crept through the castle. It was empty, everyone either working at or attending the ball. Other than the guards, Luke must have been the only one who wasn’t there. It took him half an hour to find an old courtyard behind the ballroom, slipping past overgrown vines that nobody bothered to take care of anymore, and stood on tiptoes to see inside the vast ballroom. As he drew closer to the dirty, cracked windows, he could hear the strings, the laughter. It grew in his ears as he approached, pounding in his chest.

He could see into the back of the ballroom this way. He could see the flying skirts, the sheen of the polished floor, and endless people. He could see bows moving across the strings of glossy wood instruments, feet pattering against the ground,

He didn’t see Ashton.

He scanned all he could see of the ballroom. Perhaps Ashton had already had his first dance. Perhaps Luke simply could not see him where he was standing. He didn’t know, but he ached for a glimpse of Ashton.

After he had been watching for a while, he heard leaves crunching behind him. His head whipped around, startled and afraid he’d been caught. To his astonishment, he saw a familiar face.

“Hello,” Ashton said, smiling weakly. “Are you still angry?”

Luke felt the breath in his chest dissipate. Ashton’s hair seemed more golden in the moonlight, one side slicked back while the other fell in immaculate curls over the side of his face. He was wearing a navy and gold double-breasted coat and pristine white pants. The gold epaulets made his shoulders seem even broader and more defined. He looked older, stronger; Luke realized with a jolt that he looks like a king.

“Did you find your bride?” Luke asked, rather than answering the question. He didn’t know if he was angry or not; all he knew was that nothing was going to be easy.

“No.” Ashton sighed and looked at the window, glancing at the ball he had left behind. “I could not see any of the present princesses as my bride.”

“Why not?” Luke kept his eyes firmly fixed on Ashton’s face. “Surely they were all beautiful and intelligent and mannered.”

“They were,” Ashton confirmed. “Yes, they were all that, and more.”

“Then what stopped you? Why were they not to your liking?”

“Because I could not stop thinking about you,” Ashton murmured, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I did not want a princess. I wanted a prince.”

If Luke felt short of breath before, he felt suffocated now. Everything seemed an illusion; the crumbling statues, the overreaching vines, the high and unkempt hedges. Luke was in a deteriorating wonderland.

“Do you deceive me again?” Luke mumbled, the air suddenly unbearably hot. He wanted to be pressed up against Ashton, every facet of their bodies molded together like it was made to be. He wanted Ashton to say what Luke had only dreamed he would: _I love you, I love you, I love you_. If Ashton was lying, mocking him, he would never recover.

“I will never deceive you henceforth.” Ashton looked at Luke with pained eyes. “Do you hate me for it?”

“We cannot marry,” Luke stuttered. “I am common, and a boy...”

“I will be king soon,” Ashton reminded him. “And then the law is only as good as my will.”

“But I am not beautiful,” Luke said, his eyes brimming. “I am not well-mannered, or educated.”

“I don’t want those things.” Ashton stepped forward, taking Luke’s hand. “I only want you. Will you be my first dance?”

He looked like more than a king in the moonlight, the music from the ballroom filtering into the abandoned courtyard. He looked like a god. He looked like a future. He looked like love.

“I do not know how to dance,” Luke whispered, flushing as he looked down.

“I will teach you.” Ashton pulled Luke to his body in one motion, positioning Luke’s hands on his shoulders and keeping his own on Luke’s waist. He smiled, his face close to Luke’s. His eyes were shadowed as he tilted his head down towards Luke’s. Carefully, he took Luke’s hand from his shoulder and held it in his own, extending them out to the side, and then he led. Luke tried to follow his feet without stumbling, but he felt that he was gliding along instead, being twirled under Ashton’s arm or skating over the uneven cobblestones.

_So this is love._

All Luke saw was Ashton’s eyes, their foreheads pressing together as Ashton swept him around. Luke wondered if his heart would burst. Ashton was going to solve everything, he knew that. The music, though faint, seemed just for them.

Just when Luke didn’t think he could be any more in love with Ashton, Ashton finally brought them to a stop in front of the stone bench. He was breathing hard, more so than Luke, and slid a hand to the back of Luke’s head. Luke’s eyes shut, and Ashton finally kissed him.

It felt the way it did when Luke flew through the trees on horseback. It felt like when Ashton wrapped his coat around Luke’s shoulders. A thrill, a shot of warmth.

Before Luke’s head stopped spinning, Ashton was pulling back. He must have seen the way Luke’s blue eyes widened and glittered. Luke registered the sound of the big bell tower, ringing out the time. Midnight.

“They will be looking for me,” Ashton whispered.

“What will you tell them?”

Ashton smiled. “I will tell them I found someone to marry.” He made as if to take off, and Luke stopped him, grabbing his arm.

“Wait! How will I remember you? How will I know you will return to me?” Luke was frantic, afraid. What if he lost Ashton all over again?

Ashton paused, thinking. Then he reached for his wrist and unhooked the silver bracelet he always wore. Luke assumed it was expensive, and didn’t understand Ashton’s intention until he took Luke by the hand and clasped it around his wrist. The cold metal almost stung against Luke’s blood-hot skin. It was big, almost too big, and hung loose, the edges of his hand just too wide to let it fall.

“Give me some time to work this out,” Ashton promised, “and I will come looking for you.”

Luke didn’t know how he found his way back home, but he did. He hardly slept that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he could feel Ashton’s lips on his, and every time he moved, the bracelet brushed his skin, an icy reminder of Luke’s dreams.

 

* * *

 

The next week was agonizing. Luke could barely contain his secret. He played with the bracelet whenever he was alone, kept it hidden under his tunic when he wasn’t. His fingers smelled like metal all the time. It was the most expensive thing Luke owned, and he felt as though he had been impressed with something important.

Every time he looked at it, his heart beat faster. He spent every second of the day fantasizing, dreaming about what it would be like to spend every day with Ashton. How would it feel? Would he get to fall asleep next to Ashton, in a big fancy bed with silk sheets? Would he eat how Ashton did, every day? Would he wear nice clothes?

It sank in a little further each day. He was going to marry a prince. Ashton wasn’t going to let him down. He was going to be free of this hell. He couldn’t even imagine a life outside of the one he was living, practically. For the first time in years, he felt alight, hopeful. Ashton would whisk him away any day, and he’d never have to look back.

It didn’t take long for news to spread that the prince had danced with someone in secret, and that the person had his famed bracelet. Luke hadn’t known it was a big deal, that the bracelet he was wearing was so precious to Ashton, but apparently it was common knowledge to just about everyone else. Before Luke could work out his plans to come forward with the bracelet, he was swept up in a maelstrom of girls claiming their silver bracelet was the one Ashton had given to his lover. Luke realized that, probably in the interest of protecting both their lives, Ashton did not tell them that he had chosen a boy. People were whipped up into a frenzy. Every princess dutifully brought their bracelets to Ashton to deliberate over. Every girl in the kingdom was hoping their bracelet would pass for his, even though they had to know it wasn’t them he was looking for. Still, Luke thought, they all would lie for a chance to marry a prince.

Luke wondered what Ashton was doing. Did he sigh every time some hopeful girl walked through the doors? Did he receive them in a special room? Did they let just anyone in?

He only knew what he’d heard along the grapevine, but after a few days, he was sick of it, and sick of missing Ashton. He wasn’t sure whether he should come forward or not. Was the time right? Did Ashton want him to wait, or was the initiation of the search his signal to Luke to show the bracelet? Maybe the search had been someone else’s idea, not part of the plan at all. Luke was acutely afraid that he would be in danger if someone found out that he was Ashton’s male lover.

Somehow, he kept his mouth shut.

Word came around that the search was getting more and more hopeless. They were searching within the castle now, even receiving common people. It worked the kitchen girls up in a tizzy. Luke wondered why Ashton didn’t direct them to the kitchens, when he knew Luke worked there. Perhaps he didn’t want to let on that he knew more than he told them.

And at long last, the news came that the crown prince would be visiting the kitchens to see if anybody had the bracelet.

Luke knew it was his sign. He had shoved the bracelet deep inside his bag of things, knowing that wearing it when it could easily be seen if he had to roll up his sleeves was dangerous. When he was sure nobody was looking, he ran back to his room, tearing through the corridors. His heart pounded in his chest. He had to drag it out quickly. They could have come and gone by the time he returned. His fingers flew to his bag, rummaging for the cold metal.

He felt it brush his skin, and dug it out. Sighing in relief, he clasped it around his wrist again. His heart began to slow in response. He smiled fondly at it, running his fingers over the links. It looked out of place among his tattered clothes, but he felt at home with it.

Before he could rise and return to the kitchens, the door burst inward. Luke yanked his sleeve down, startled, but from the look in Ben’s eyes, he knew he’d already seen. Ben hurtled towards him, knocking him backwards on his pallet and pinning his arms to the floor. Luke gasped, partly in surprise and partly in pain from the metal bracelet digging into his wrist as it was pressed into the floor.

“I found him!” Ben yelled. “He’s got the bracelet!”

Luke’s breath hitched in surprise, and he tried to lift his head from the ground, He shook his head frantically, straining against Ben’s hold. Ben put a heavy knee on his chest to keep him down and yanked his sleeve down, revealing the bracelet.

“Please,” Luke begged. “Please, it’s mine, I—”

Luke didn’t have time to finish before the cook came through the door, dragging Jack behind her. When her eyes fixed on the bracelet, her eyes widened.

“Where did you get that?” she demanded, marching over to stand over him. “Did you steal it? Answer me!”

“No, no, it’s mine,” Luke said, tears beginning to fill his eyes.

“He’s the one,” Jack said incredulously from the doorway. “It’s him. He’s a _freak._ ”

“It doesn’t matter now,” the cook said dismissively. “This is our ticket out.”

“I can’t believe it was _Luke..._ ”

“Please,” Luke said again, his voice lost in the din of the argument. “It’s mine.”

“We have to take it,” she said, hooking her fingers in the bracelet. Luke’s heart screamed, and his struggles increased. “Jack, you have to be the one.”

“It’s mine,” Luke sobbed desperately. “Oh, please, don’t take it, please!”

But she curled her fingers in the chain and tugged so hard it snapped free, eliciting a sharp gasp from Luke. Ben took his knee off Luke’s chest as she handed it to Jack and marched him back out into the hallway. Luke scrambled to his feet and lurched forward, but the door slammed shut and locked behind them before he could reach them, and he fell against the door, shoulders heaving with sobs.

“Go to hell!” Luke screamed after them, hammering his fists against the door. He collapsed forward, weeping bitterly on his hands and knees and ignoring the tears that fell to the floor. It wasn’t _fair._ It hurt so deeply in his chest he thought he would die.

It felt like being sucked under the ocean, like the way he had been when he was young and his father had taken him to the seaside. It felt like the sun was miles above him, and he’d never find his way to the surface again. It felt like being trapped under the freezing waves, the whole world moving in slow motion.

He had let people make a fool of him, again. He was not going to marry a prince; he was not going to marry anyone at all. Ashton would have to marry Jack; after all, he had the bracelet.

It felt like his stomach had been ripped out, that where it was remained only a hollow hole. When the sobs faded out, weakness took its place.

That was it. His last chance at escaping this prison had been torn from his hands. Oh, how he’d dared to hope. Who would let him be a prince, anyway?

Trying to breathe past the crushed feeling in his chest, he took the box of used matches and struck one over and over again. There must have been some use in it left, because after a long time, it finally ignited, and he reached into the fireplace to light the charred wood inside. Then he gathered a blanket around himself and curled up on his pallet, as close to the fire as he could get.

He rocked himself gently, letting the heat of the fire wash over him. His eyes hurt as though they’d been sandpapered, and he closed them and laid his forehead against his arm. He would have been happy if the fire had enveloped him that night and burned away all his pain.

 

* * *

 

It was late in the night when Luke woke, and he couldn’t figure out what it was that had woken him. His eyelids were still swollen, and he could hear voices. The world seemed to tilt as he sat up too quickly, the sleep haze still dizzying him.

Eventually, he became aware of his name being said. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and turned. He knew before he saw that the door was open, because the fire had long gone out and the room was still flooded in light. But he was still floored by the sight of Ashton in the doorway, dressed in his best as he had been during the ball. Ashton wordlessly rushed to Luke, who was still bundled in blankets.

Luke almost sobbed in relief, collapsing forward and draping himself over Ashton. “You _came._ ” His chest heaved up and down.

“Oh, god, of course I came,” Ashton said, obviously relieved too. He took Luke’s hand in his own and brought it to his cheek, warming it. “You are so cold.”

“I started a fire,” Luke said, his teeth chattering. His eyes were brimming again, this time as the weight lifted from his chest. His body sang as it melted against Ashton. “It must have gone out...”

“I am sorry,” Ashton said, his eyes filling with tears of his own. “I would not have put you through this if I could have avoided it. I will fix it.” Ashton pressed his face into Luke’s shoulder and squeezed him tight. “I knew it was an impostor when Jack came. Of course I knew. But I could do nothing about it. It was the right bracelet, and nobody listened when I told them it was the wrong boy. Jack broke down halfway through the banquet and told me they left you here.” He paused, gripping Luke as if he was afraid Luke would slip away again. “It’s over, Luke. You shall be removed from here. I will make sure you want for nothing.”

“What?” Luke was stunned, and went limp in Ashton’s arms. “You mean I will be your bride after all?”

“My groom,” Ashton corrected softly. “If you will still have me. And this time, nothing will stand in our way.”

“It cannot be true,” Luke whispered.

“Don’t cry,” Ashton said gently, wiping away the tears Luke had shed. “This is your happy ending. The kingdom will know in a few hours. We will be together, forever, and you will never have to worry again, I will make sure of it.”

“Is this a dream?” Luke wondered, choked.

“Of a kind,” Ashton murmured, and brushed his lips against Luke’s forehead. “After all, a dream is but a wish your heart makes.”

“My heart wishes for you,” Luke whispered. “Please, never leave me again.”

“I would not for anything,” Ashton promised. “You will never be alone as long as I live, I promise, I promise.”

Luke didn’t have many tears left in him, but he couldn’t stop himself from crying as Ashton held him.

 

* * *

 

Luke did not know how to describe the feeling of sleeping in a real bed for the first time in five years. Ashton had insisted Luke sleep in his bed, seeing as they would be married soon anyway. Luke was speechless as he changed into a pair of silk pajamas that felt too soft to be real and got into bed. It felt surreal to be lying next to the prince, sinking into the soft mattress.

“It feels like clouds,” Luke mumbled, and Ashton burst into laughter beside him. “Or marshmallows.”

Ashton slid closer and wrapped an arm around Luke’s waist, the motion so natural it almost felt habitual. Luke’s stomach fluttered with nerves. “You will acclimate.”

“Do I really get to sleep in a bed like this every night?” Luke ventured, smiling shyly. “It’s awfully big.”

“That is precisely why we are sharing.” Ashton pecked him quickly on the mouth. “I think it’s more fun this way.”

“Me too.” Luke nuzzled his head into the crook of Ashton’s neck. He felt at home, like this was where he was meant to be. He hoped Ashton wouldn’t move his arm.

“We will get you some clothes made as soon as possible,” Ashton murmured. “You are to be a prince, after all.”

Luke did not know how how to comprehend all the changes. He’d had his first hot bath in ages in a big claw-footed tub, and though he’d declined to let the maids help, blushing at the thought of them seeing him naked, it had still been luxurious and incredible. He smelled like the pretty soaps they kept in the bathroom, and Ashton had buried his nose in his hair, chasing the floral scent.

Ashton drew the curtains shut around the bed, and Luke yawned and sighed. Ashton smiled fondly as Luke tilted his head up. “I love you so much,” he said, kissing a trail down Luke’s forehead to the tip of his nose before planting a final kiss on his lips. “No matter when we marry, you are already a prince to me.”

Luke couldn’t remember ever being so happy. Not even as a child. Luke had to understand sorrow before he could understand happiness. And there, in the warm embrace of the boy he loved more than anything in the entire world, he knew that this was what happiness felt like.

 

* * *

 

The sun filtered through the chiffon curtains one morning, and it had never seemed so bright or warm to Luke.

As tradition had it, Luke would not have slept in Ashton’s room that particular day, but it was generally agreed upon that there was no room fit for Luke to sleep in, though he was not a prince yet. It had taken longer than expected for everything to be prepared, largely because of the legislature Ashton and his mother had been figuring out how to circumvent or change. Then there was the matter of the wedding banquet to be made, decorations to set up, and invitations to be sent out. At the ceremony itself, it would mostly be Ashton’s secondary family and neighboring rulers who were allied with their kingdom, since Luke had nobody to invite. But the commoners from all over the kingdom would attend the dance the next day.

Being an almost-prince came with responsibilities. Although Ashton did his best to get Luke out of as many commitments as he could (“I am almost completely certain Luke will never need to know military tactics. Does he look like he can hold a sword?”), Luke did have to be educated on certain things. Ashton had grown up with lessons on manners and traditions and ceremonies. Luke had had to attend endless fittings for his wedding robes as well as every day robes, and had sat through boring lessons in diplomacy and table manners and ballroom dancing. He was beginning to understand why Ashton had found it all so boring to begin with. But Ashton often came with him and sat next to him so he wasn’t alone, and mostly whispered answers to him the whole time, much to the tutors’ chagrin. And of course, Ashton insisted on helping teach Luke dancing by being his partner, and Luke didn’t complain about that, even though at the end of the day his whole body ached. At some point, when Ashton’s mother passed away, they would have to sit still for hours and hours so someone could paint the official portrait. It hadn’t even stricken Luke at that point that he would be a king someday; it was hard enough trying to be a prince.

Right now, though, Luke’s biggest hurdle was the wedding. Ashton had an arm looped around Luke’s waist; no matter how they fell asleep, they always seemed to wake up in the same position, with Luke’s back to Ashton’s chest and Ashton’s arm securing him close. Luke had stopped blushing about it after a few days. Now, though, he gently pried at Ashton’s arm and tried to wake him.

“Ash,” he whispered. “Wake up. C’mon.”

“Shh.”

Luke shifted and turned in Ashton’s arms so he could kiss the tip of Ashton’s nose. “Wake up. Wedding day.”

Ashton smiled broadly and rolled over onto his back, opening his eyes. “So it is.”

They ate breakfast in their room and got dressed, rather an unnecessary measure as it seemed to Luke, since they were whisked off almost immediately to get bathed and redressed in robes.

Luke let the maids wash him just this once, blushing and trying to keep himself covered. He insisted he could clean himself, but they were mostly older maids, and rolled their eyes at him. Looking down at himself in the bathtub, he knew he still had a long way to go before he put on natural weight. He was still scrawny and undernourished, his ribs and collarbones a bit too sharp and his legs too wobbly, but Ashton insisted he didn’t mind. Of course, Luke was quite young, and it was to be expected that he would still be growing for a bit.

He was helped out of the bath and wrapped in a towel, then shuffled, shivering, to a dressing room where he was greeted by an intimidating sight. Waiting in the room for him was a single knight. The breeze in the room brought Luke’s wet skin up in goosebumps.  

“I’ll take it from here,” the knight said, shooing off the maids.

Luke took in the other man with apprehension. Luke couldn’t tell he was a knight except for the sword strapped to his waist in a long sheath. His hair was jet black and his skin dark. He was built somewhat like Ashton, broad and muscular, and far taller than Luke as well. Luke wasn’t sure what he was going to do, and felt foolish in just a towel.

“Okay, drop the towel,” the man said. “We have to get you dressed.”

Luke only clung tighter to the towel, nervous. “What?”

“Well, this is all unprecedented, you know,” he continued conversationally. “Having two kings. Usually the king and queen get dressed alone. The king by his best knight and the queen by her highest lady in-waiting. But of course, there are two kings. Ashton chose Michael over me, the asshole. My name is Calum, by the way.”

“Oh,” Luke replied, not sure what to say. He shook in the cold room. Calum didn’t seem to notice.

“But if you ask me, I think Ash would have rather had me. He just wanted to make sure you were attended by someone he really trusted.” He winked and smiled reassuringly. “So, will you drop your towel?”

Luke nodded reluctantly and lowered the towel, moving his hands to cover himself. He was sure his whole body was blushing. Calum kindly made no big deal of it as he handed Luke his underwear. “You and Ashton are—friends?”

“Mm, here and there. Obviously we were very busy as children. Me training to be a knight, him training to be a king. He told me about you, you know. I thought he was crazy when he said he wanted to marry you. Imagine! Having two kings! Absolutely insane.” Calum grinned as he helped Luke slip into a pair of pants that Luke really needed no help with. “But I guess he figured, if his mother could be the first ruling queen, then we could have two kings.”

“Oh.”

“This is a bit big for you, isn’t it,” Calum added casually when he slipped the tunic over Luke’s head. “You are rather small. I thought Ashton was joking when he mentioned that.”

Luke colored again, feeling even smaller than before in Calum’s looming shadow. “I am only 16.”

“Fancy that! Not even a man yet.” Calum began zealously lacing the back of Luke’s vest. Luke wheezed.

“Loosen it up,” he mumbled. “I can feel my ribs cracking.” Calum heeded his request and loosened the laces.

“Now for your robe,” Calum murmured. He helped Luke slip his arms into it and tied it at his neck to keep it from falling. It was made of heavy velvet, and Luke tried his best to keep his back straight. “Boy, it makes you look even tinier.” Calum stepped back to admire his work. “But you look like a proper prince.”

Luke fidgeted with his fingers, and his chin dropped to his chest. His breathing was failing to level out, and with the weight of the ceremonial robes, his knees began to buckle. Calum reached forward to steady him, frowning in concern. “Are you all right?”

“I am nervous,” Luke admitted tearfully. “I have so much to remember. Everyone will be watching. What if I mess up? What if I make a fool of myself?”

Calum smiled fondly. Luke thought he had a brilliant smile, his teeth perfectly white and his eyes crinkling up amiably. “Worry not. They will be forgiving. I know how much Ashton loves you, and he will ensure that you are safe. I will be with you until you meet him at the altar.”

“What if I end up a bad king?” Luke frets, swallowing hard past the lump in his throat. “I am afraid.”

“Do not be. Your job will never be to enforce laws, or to go to war. You will be a figurehead king, and Ashton will be the practical king. He will take care of all the hard decisions. But you will balance him out. You will temper him and smooth his edges, open his eyes when he is blind. And that is as important. The kingdom needs someone with your kindness and gentility. You will be a very good king.” Calum lifted Luke’s chin. “Are you ready to be married?”

The bell tower chimed in the distance, signaling their time had come to an end. Luke took a deep breath. “I am ready.”

Luke was extremely grateful for Calum’s accompaniment as they walked through the castle to the chapel. Calum kept a steadying hand on his back and led him to the heavy wooden doors. Ashton would be waiting at the end of the aisle, and then Luke would be a prince.

It was more than he ever imagined.

“Here you are,” Calum said gently. “Go on.”

Luke took a deep breath and walked through the double doors. He could see rows of people sitting in the pews. The organ began to play, and Luke’s heart fluttered.

Ashton stood at the end, wrapped in robes heavier and more elaborately adorned than Luke’s. But he stood tall and strong, unburdened, his crown perched proudly atop his head. He was meant to only show the side of his face to the audience, as Luke would come to face him, but he couldn’t resist turning his head and smiling at Luke ever so slightly, bolstering Luke’s courage. His legs shook as he walked up the aisle, all eyes on him. All waiting to see the new prince, the common boy.

“Hello,” Ashton whispered as the organ came to a stop and Luke stood nearly nose to nose with Ashton.

“Hello,” Luke whispered back, smiling nervously. Ashton brushed his hand against Luke’s, a comforting gesture.

Luke could hardly breathe through the whole ceremony. They sat in velvet chairs and waited to be joined. Luke watched Ashton out of the corner of his eye, trying his best not to look at the people.

Finally, they were called to rise and stand together, and Calum, came forward to tie their pinkies together with a white ribbon. Then, the priest took a second crown, more feminine and floral than Ashton’s and silver rather than gold, from a velvet pillow. He placed it on Luke’s head, the weight of the crown keeping it in place.

“You are now husbands and heirs to receive the throne after Queen Anne-Marie. You may seal the marriage with a kiss.”

They did, and Ashton had to support Luke to keep him from falling to his knees.

The rest of the night was a blur of dancing, feasting, and greeting Ashton’s relatives. Luke found himself swallowing back tears every time they said congratulations, spinning in a euphoric daze. He was married to Ashton. He was a prince. He was no longer a slave. Ashton didn’t leave his side the whole time, and when they got to their new room, Ashton couldn’t keep his lips off Luke’s.

They managed to stumble onto the white bed, Ashton poised above Luke. He kissed Luke sweetly, their hands entertwined to the side.

“I am so happy,” Luke said as Ashton wiped away one of his tears. “Thank you, thank you.” He cupped Ashton’s cheek, kissing him back with more conviction.

“I love you so,” Ashton whispered back, pressing his forehead against Luke’s.

“I love you more.”

“But I truly love you the most.”

Luke smiled tearfully. In that moment, all he could see was Ashton. All he could see was his best friend, laughing in the grass, bringing him a picnic, holding his hand, holding him close, kissing him for the first time. All he could see was a prince, and a king. All he could see was love, blindingly bright. All he could see was Ashton.

And he knew that all Ashton could see was him, too.


End file.
